The White Death
by Derek Zolfer
Summary: In the depths of Leá Monde, Neesa must face herself, her past, and her future.


The sun glared down on Leá Monde's narrow, twisting streets, casting alternating patches of light and shadow. Despite the scorching orb overhead, the city crept with cold death, and also with lots of zombies. But Neesa cared not for their illicit undead discourse. She sought only one thing. Sought it with all of her being, all of her might. She had left Tieger gently fondling a training dummy and getting stoked on Leá Monde's aged wine. This was something she had to find for herself. 

She closed her eyes and concentrated. Flying was a different kind of magick than that of the Dark. It was Northern magick, and came from within. 

There was a rush like the thrill of newly injected heroin and she was in the wine cellar, blinking at cobweb-dusted barrels of Leá Monde's finest. She frowned, realizing that they were out of her reach. Black iron bars separated her from her prize more resolutely than a diaphragm guarding against jizz. She spied a note tacked to one of the barrels and edged forward, squinting, to read it. 

"---->," it said. "Best stuff next room. STAY OUT." 

Neesa paused, thoughtful, then edged toward the door. She pressed her ear against it and listened. "Rrrrrrrr," she heard from within. 

The door shifted open, its hinges still well-oiled and quiet even after years of disuse. At the sight of what was in the room, she felt a stab of Eldritch fire race across her Riskloins. She knew that what she was seeing should be some sort of impossibilty, an abomination unfit for this world, and yet her gaze was drawn to it nevertheless, 'twas out of her power to resist. 

Callo Merlose and the heretic, the one the profiles called John Hardin, sat side by side on the floor, roaring like lions and snorting up lines of Grade A Iron Maiden White Leá Monde cocaine, the kind of stuff that you could only get by going down on a member of the Riskbreaker command. (Which member? The old lady with the fucked up cigar thing. What a nasty bitch.) The sight of Merlose's dialated eyes, frothing mouth, and bleeding nose turned Neesa on as nothing else ever had before. 

_Can 't be so?_ she wondered. 'twere it possible? _I never have thought before on this dilemma. 'tis it true then, that I am fated to munch carpet? 'tis it? _

She gazed enraptured at the crotch of Callo's pants, imagining in glee the lapidified Inquisiclit beneath. 'twas so. Apparently. For some reason. 

"'Tis the toe of a camel!" she jeered, stalking toward the pair. 

The cultist and the Riskbreaker looked up at her with white, crusty nostrils. Hardin frowned. 

"Art wearing pants?" he asked Callo, surprised. 

"Nay," said she. "Tights stretch over mine ghetto-booty and thighs." Turning to Neesa, she smiled. "Wherefore art thou joining us, Neesa? Perhaps this Iron Maiden White called to you from yonder room?" 

"Aye," said Neesa. "'Tis thus, and always thus has been. The White has aided my flight ere you were conceived." 

"Tis free the first time," Merlose said, leaning back. Her eyes were glazed, and Neesa didn't know if she was talking about the Iron Maiden White, or her rank VKPussy. Either way, she was eager to have a taste. 

"Callo!" Hardin said, his voice rough, and yet somehow hurt. "Truly, if thy called thyself mine bosomfriend, thou wouldst not offer to share my parcel of yon opiate!" 

"Fie! Fie on thee John Hardin!" Callo replied. "Thou hast me hostage tooken! Aye, 'twould be criminal for me to do anything other than steal thy crackmonkey powder. 'Tis only justice! The only justice I canst now have!" 

"Speak to me not of justice, wench!" Hardin sounded desperate now. "Seest thou not howst mine hands doth shake from perfidious withdrawal? Hast thou no heart?" 

"'Tis enough," Neesa said. "'Tis not constructive to argue thus. We will soon 'gain be enemies, but for now, let us partake of thy sweet White embrace together, inhaling it as sweet ambrosia borne on October winds of melancholy bliss OH HOLY FUCKING LEATHER DILDO WHAT THE DOGSHIT IS THAT?" 

And with that, the undead minotaur lurched into the room. 

"RAR," said the minotaur. "COCAINE, MINE!" It advanced on the couple still seated on the floor. Merlose and Hardin attempted to stand, but failed. "Damn and blast!" shouted Hardin as he tripped over Callo's ridiculous footwear. Callo snatched at the half-full goatskin bag on the floor, but her greed cost them their lives- both were trampled into bloody pulp under the minotaur's massive hooves. 

Neesa backed away as slowly as she could, but to no avail. The minotaur snorted, curdling her insides with dread and a strange erotic excitement. 

"'Tis a charming club ye have there, beast," said she, but her flattery did her no good. The last thing she saw was the Hand of Light swinging (no, not swinging like your parents did but won't admit). 

Neesa flew. 

~fin~ 

AN: DID NEESA REALLY DIE? WHAT DID I MEAN WHEN I SAID SHE FLEW? I'LL NEVER TELL HAHHAHAHAHHAHA! 


End file.
